Dedicated to the One I Love
by swAhILi2011
Summary: February 14th, 1945: Arthur sits at a base camp in England, waiting for a letter, one that always comes, from a certain American pilot who was stationed in Germany with his people. With the letter this time, however, comes a special surprise. AU


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"_Each night before you go to bed, my baby,_

_Whisper a little prayer for me, my baby;_

_And tell all the stars above-_

_This is dedicated to the one I love…"_

oOoOoOo

"It's almost eight, Arthur. Your letter isn't coming."

"Belt up, git!" Arthur all but snarled at Francis, who was a general in the French army. They may have been allies, but he and Arthur were acquaintances at best, though mostly they were at each other's throat. This evening, however, they were having drinks together in Arthur's tent, Francis having provided the wine which meant Arthur couldn't kick him out even if he so very wanted to. It was Februarys fourteenth-Valentine's day, a date which hadn't meant much to Arthur other than exchanging friendly greetings and cards with his few friends…but that was before the war, before he'd met Alfred.

Alfred was an American fighter pilot, who was among those first of the American troops sent over to fight. He quickly became one of their Ace pilots, his piloting skills exceptional. Arthur first met him when he and some of the other pilots were stopping off in England before being sent off to the front in Germany. Arthur had been at that same encampment, and he had quite literally run into Alfred on the second day. Alfred had immediately started apologizing, his large blue eyes so full of youth and innocence…he couldn't have been much older than eighteen, if that. He was taller than Arthur, although that wasn't much of a feat since Arthur was short and petite. The American, however, was tall, his skin bronzed from what was likely hours on the fields back in the United States, and his shoulders were rather broad. His face, however, was still that of a teenager, of a child, and his sky blue eyes and brilliant grin didn't help that image. He had just laughed, saluting to Arthur (who was a Captain and therefore of higher rank than the at the moment 2nd Lieutenant Jones).

"_Terribly sorry, Captain, sir, I didn't see you there."_

Arthur had stood dumbfounded for a moment, and then he nodded curtly at the American.

"_That's alright-ah, Lieutenant Jones, is it?" _Alfred nodded._ "Carry on, then."_

"_Yessir." _Alfred said, saluting again before darting off toward the mess hall, where he'd been headed. Arthur ran into him several times over the next week, the two of them eventually chatting and then one night…well, let's just say Arthur had a few too many and started ranting, Francis laughing and pushing him on the American. Alfred had taken him back to his tent and soon enough clothes were shed and Arthur was weeping and stammering how much he loved him, and how foolish he was for loving an American idiot like him. Alfred had just laughed, but didn't say it back until a few days later, when he realized that Arthur had actually been serious and far more sober than he had thought. They kissed under the stars that evening, whispering tender words and small nothings to each other. But it was bittersweet, because two days later Alfred's force was called out and he was to be sent off to Germany, where some of the hardest battles were being fought. Arthur cried the night before he left, in the privacy of his officer's tent, and Alfred just held him in his arms and kissed each tear away, promising to return to him soon. Arthur watched him take off-his plane, Josephine, easily discernible by the ridiculous red, white, and blue designs he'd painted on it-and Arthur saw Alfred shooting him a thumbs up before he took off, and then he was gone.

After that, he only heard from him in letters, some coded with words that only they would know, and he had to make them sound casual, like friends rather than the lovers they were, because they would risk their positions that way. Alfred always ended the letters with the phrase "Give my love to Alice", which was his way of telling Arthur he loved him. Arthur couldn't send anything back , since while he was permanently stationed, Alfred and his comrades switched locations rather often which made getting a letter to him almost impossible. Arthur kept each and every letter in his chest, tie up with string-letters from Christmases, and other holidays that had passed, even Arthur's birthday. But this was the first time one of the letters had arrived this late, and Arthur was starting to get worried. Francis just sighed, shaking his head and taking another sip of wine.

"It's probably just been delayed, mon ami. Stop fretting yourself over it."

"But Alfred always sends them a month in advance, so they always reach here on time or early." Arthur snapped, swilling the wine around his glass, large eyebrows drawn together as he frowned worriedly. "He knows that it's difficult to get letters through quickly. It shouldn't be this late, it's never arrived this late."

"Arthur, mon cher, relax." Francis said calmly, drinking the last of his wine and pouring himself another glass. "He's in dangerous territory, perhaps the letter simply didn't make it out."

"Or he could have been killed." Arthur whispered, drinking the rest of his wine in one gulp and setting the glass down, the only thing betraying his fear being the shaking of his hand. Each time a holiday rolled around he would wait for the letter, and each day it didn't come he started to fret that maybe he'd missed a report, maybe Alfred's division had been wiped or he'd been taken prisoner or any number of things that could have happened to him. He had no other communication with the American he'd given his heart to, and so if the letter didn't arrive then…what else was he to assume? It was a war, after all, people died, even exceptional pilots like Alfred, and they were sent home in a pine box with a letter to their families saying how sorry they were, but what a big service he'd done for his country, and-

"Arthur, you're bleeding."

Arthur started, looking down at his hand where, sure enough, the nail had cut into his palm and blood was starting to ooze from the wounds slowly. He heard Francis sigh dramatically, standing up from his chair and walking over to where Arthur kept his small kit of medical supplies, grabbing alcohol and a bandage. He knelt beside him, taking Arthur's hand and dabbing at the small wounds, Arthur's hissing in pain. Francis just raised an eyebrow, shaking his head.

"You did this to yourself. I told you not to fret over much."

"But it's true, Francis, and you know it." Arthur mumbled, looking down as Francis wrapped a bandage around his hand. "We've lost so many…Alfred could be one of them."

"Don't speak that way, Arthur. He loves you…he'll find a way home to you."

Arthur opened his mouth to speak again when a young soldier opened the flap to his tent, saluting at them and holding something in his hand…and Arthur practically shoved Francis to the side, darting forward and grabbing the letter from the boy's hand, startling him. He paid him no mind, instead tearing open the top of the letter, something falling out into his hand. He raised his eyebrows, and then he looked at it more closely to find that it was a pocket watch, pure silver by the looks of it, and on the back there was an inscription…Arthur felt tears prickling in his eyes when he read it.

"_To the one I love –AFJ"_

It must have cost Alfred a fortune-that was his first thought as he turned the small item over in his hands, ignoring the other two, Francis excusing the other soldier before excusing himself while Arthur was too distracted by the gift. When he popped it open he noticed it was set to the correct time, and on the opposite side Alfred had tacked a picture of himself. Arthur smiled fondly, tracing his finger over the image-it was Alfred when he'd first joined the army, saluting at the camera with that big cheeky grin on his face, his uniform still pressed and his hat set upon his head at a jaunty angle. He clicked the watch closed and pulled out the letter, surprised at the fact that it was only a single piece of paper, and there was one single phrase written on it…

"_Look up."_

Arthur furrowed his brow, confused at first…but then he looked up, and his breath caught in his throat, his heart skipping a beat as he gazed at the figure in the doorway of the tent. He was frozen for a moment and then he launched himself at him, arms wrapping around Alfred's neck as he burst into tears abruptly.

"You s-stupid, bloody, _git!_ I've been so w-worried about you…"

"I know, I know…" Alfred laughed, and Arthur looked up at him, cupping Alfred's cheeks gently as he took in the sight, the deep black bags under his blue eyes, eyes that spoke of many weary hours of fighting and flight. But his smile was genuine, and Arthur was surprised to see tears at the corner of the American's eyes before he pulled him into a crushing hug, lifting Arthur several inches from the ground. "I wanted to surprise you, since it's a rather special holiday-Happy Valentine's Day, by the way." He added, pressing a sweet kiss to Arthur's lips. The other blonde kissed him back, and when they pulled apart he was smiling, clinging onto Alfred tightly and the two of them swaying slightly, closing their eyes. They knew that Alfred would have to leave once more in a few days, but for now they had this moment to simply be together, no war, no bombs, no ocean to separate them-just Arthur and Alfred and the love that they shared, and in that one moment, everything was perfect.

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End file.
